


Uneasy Pt. 1

by grasping4light (serenamaes)



Series: When I Met U [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, otayuri - Freeform, yurabek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenamaes/pseuds/grasping4light
Summary: What does it mean when you have sex dreams about your best friend? What do you do when they come visit you at your grandfather's house? Yuri Plisetsky has to come face to face with the man in his dreams, as Otabek comes to visit him and Nikolai in Moscow.





	Uneasy Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of the prequel to "When I Met U", an ongoing series of shorts and one-shots involving Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin. Marked as Mature due to frequent f-bomb dropping and some heated insinuation of what Yuri does when he's alone in his pajamas. Enjoy.

Usually he was happy to be back in Moscow, visiting his grandfather for what would always be a short vacation between seasons and intensive training in Saint Petersburg, but nothing felt right since Barcelona. He should be happy – he had a fucking gold under his belt! But that was not it . . .

“You have the eyes of a soldier.” 

Even now, Otabek’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and he shook it off. “What a weird thing to say.” He murmured to himself, resting his chin on his palm while flipping through the latest posts on Instagram. There was still nothing from him anywhere on social media, and it was starting to piss him off.

“Is something bothering you?” a familiar voice approached from behind. 

He smiled over his shoulder to his grandfather, “Nothing. Just a bit chilly is all.” Though it felt like he was lying to the man more and more lately. He was uneasy for the first time he could remember, and he did not even understand why. 

. . .

“Don’t you ever talk?” Why was he so angry? This was the first time they had seen each other since Barcelona. He should be happy, but as always, Otabek was silent, and it was getting on his nerves. 

He stepped back as the taller man turned around, that stoic look on his face never changing. Yuri could feel the color spreading across his cheeks. “Did you hear me? I asked you a question!” 

Otabek took a step closer, and the boy’s heart began to race in his chest. He was moving closer still, approaching him in that standstill silence. 

And then their lips met. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The wind blew, and he could feel himself being pulled into the warm, sweet heat of that Kazakh mouth. Before he knew it, their bodies were pressed against one another, and he felt as though he were in his final seconds on the ice. His blood was boiling, and it was as if his chest would explode. Otabek’s hand was on his waist, on his thigh, and then – 

He jerked awake, panting at the conscious shock. Though it was dark in his room, save for a sliver of light from the window that heat had spread across his face as if he were glowing. He felt a throb between his legs. A sex dream? 

And his first. About a man no less. 

He scoffed and flopped back against the headboard, breathing slowly in an effort to calm himself. He had never tried the stupid relaxation technique before, but Yakov had to be right that it helped sometimes, right? Besides, it was the only thing he could think of in that moment. His head was spinning. It was helping him feel better to think of that old man (for whatever fucking reason), but suddenly Otabek’s eyes made their way to his thoughts again. He shuddered and gasped quietly, deciding it was better to keep his eyes open. 

A few moments passed, but the sensation between his legs remained. Though he knew no one was watching, he carefully glanced toward the door and listened for any sounds coming from outside. There was nothing, save for a few sirens in the distance. Even more carefully, he slid out of his pants, and tilted his head back as his hand made its way to the source of that desire. 

. . . 

It was getting harder to avoid his grandfather’s questions. Every day the man was growing more and more suspicious that something was going on, but there was no way Yuri could tell him. Could he? Though the man was pretty understanding of his other flaws, he did not think he could overlook something like this. They lived in Russia after all. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. Even though he had that dream, it was the only one he had ever had, and he was uncertain if that alone meant he was gay. In fact, he was not quite sure what that meant in itself: being gay. Being uncertain, especially when it came to being around people, was not like him at all. He usually knew right away if he liked someone; it meant they did not get on his nerves. He knew what he wanted. 

But he had never felt anything for anyone before, not this way. Why now? Why Otabek? He could ask the Piggy if this was how he felt about Victor, but that would be giving it away. If “it” was even what he thought “it” was. It was not like he could trust Yuuri with that kind of information anyway. Victor would find out eventually, and then the whole world would know. 

“Know what?!” He slammed down his phone and grabbed for his hoodie. He needed to get away. Just thinking about all of it pissed him off, so he took his feelings out on the ice. It felt like it had been years since he had stepped out onto the local rink near the apartment, but he needed something constant, something to make him feel certain again. And being on the ice meant that he was on top of the world. It meant that he was in control of what would happen next. He was anything but uncertain here.

. . .

It was the best therapy he could have tried, though that comfort quickly faded as he stepped back into his grandfather’s apartment. “You were gone quite a while. Are you sure everything is alright?” The man set a plate of fresh piroshky on the table, and Yuri felt a pang of guilt as his grandfather surveyed his actions. “I haven’t seen you rush out to skate like that in a while.” He had not even realized the man had been home when he left. He should have said something.

“I think I am just missing one of my friends.” Yuri managed, facing away from the man while he took off his shoes. “We became pretty close at the Grand Prix, but I don’t know if I’ll see him again any time soon.” What was he saying? It was not as if he and Otabek were close at all. They spent a few days together sightseeing in Barcelona, but that was it. Why was he hiding it?

“Ah,” was the only acknowledgement, but it was enough for the boy to understand that the old man knew better than to believe that half-truth. “Aren’t you going to see Victor and the other Yuuri in a month or so? That should make you feel better.” 

Yuri smiled softly and sat down at the table. “Yeah, that’ll be nice, but it would be better if some of the others would be there, too.” 

“Aha! I knew it couldn’t be one of those two,” the geezer grinned, sitting across from his grandson. “They seem a little goofy for your taste. I imagined you to be better friends with someone like that Altin kid.” 

And the color spread to his cheeks. How did he know? Did he talk in his sleep? “Otabek?” he scoffed, turning away from his grandfather with a piroshky in hand. “Why would you say something like that?” 

The old man smiled softly and took a sip of his beer. “No reason. It was just a feeling.” Something was definitely off, and he had a hunch, but he would never pry that far into his grandson’s life. Not at this point anyway. “He seems like a good kid.” 

. . . 

Still no sign of Otabek on Instagram or twitter. Though he had warned him that he was not on social media often, Yuri still felt a heavy weight of disappointment and longing as he refreshed the feeds. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. His skin was starting to crawl.

And the dreams kept happening. Every night he woke up in a cool sweat, panting to catch his breath. And every night he would listen for footsteps and panic at the slightest sound, especially when his hands were wrapped around his – 

He jumped, hearing a car door slam outside. Just thinking about the dreams were enough to make him hard, and he quickly made his way to the bathroom for a cold shower. There was no way he could look his grandfather in the eyes now. 

It was better after. He turned off the water and stared at himself as droplets delicately traveled along the contours of his nude frame. He felt calm, but it was hard to maintain eye contact with his reflection as he used to. Instead, he noticed for the first time the definition in his own muscles, and the curves, soft and subtle in comparison to what he imagined lied underneath Otabek’s clothing. Even now, he could imagine what it would feel like to touch him, that firm body that lied just seconds away from his fingertips. He shivered at the thought and remembered that he was not alone; his grandfather would be home now. After a few moments of deep breathing, and thinking of Yakov’s old mug in practice, he managed to dry off and pull on his pajamas. 

“Yurochka,” his grandfather called from the kitchen. “You put on clothes, right?” The boy stopped quickly, afraid to turn at the end of the hallway. “We have a guest!” 

“A guest?” He looked at himself in the hall mirror, tying half of his hair back. “I don’t remember talking to any-” but he was caught off-guard as he rounded the corner. Otabek sat on his couch. He must have just come from the airport - a suitcase was near the door. Yuri could feel the color spreading to his cheeks. 

“Hello, Yuri.” Calm and composed as always; the boy felt like a fool in comparison. 

“H-hello.” He forced himself to speak. In all of his life, he had never considered himself religious, but now he prayed that some sort of higher power would pull him out of this absurd dream. Otabek. Here. In his grandfather’s apartment, and he was standing in leopard print pajama bottoms, and a grunge rock t-shirt. Not even in Barcelona did the man see him in such absurd clothing.

“Don’t just stand there, Yurochka,” his grandfather beamed. “You have a guest!” The old man hobbled to his grandson and gently urged him forward. “Go on, don’t be a bad host. Make him something to drink.” 

“D-Do you like tea?”” He was talking like a toddler. It was humiliating. He had spoken to Otabek plenty of times before, but this felt so different. He was out of place here. 

For a moment Yuri thought he saw a small smile on his friend’s face as he spoke. “Yes.” He started to stand, “Is there anything I can do to hel-“

“Not now, Otabek” Nikolai gestured for the youth to sit back down. “Don’t trouble yourself. Yuri is happy to make you some tea.” He winked in his grandson’s direction. “Now what brings you to Moscow? It’s not so close to Kazakhstan, you know.” 

Even his grandfather was on better terms with Otabek than he was at this point. Yuri sighed quietly and stared at the kettle as it rattled on the stove. His face no longer felt warm, but he still had trouble watching Otabek. The way his mouth moved brought back too many memories his mind had created for some fucked up reason, and his heart fluttered at his words. 

“My flight home was canceled.” That deep voice carried easily into the kitchen, and the flush returned to Yuri’s cheeks. “Yuri gave me this address when we were in Barcelona, and I thought I would come say hello before flying back.” 

That was right – though he had lived there a few months prior to the Grand Prix, he never took the time to memorize Lilia’s address in Saint Petersburg. It was not where he wanted to be when he was not training, much less where he wanted Otabek to meet him when they had the time. Was that what he had been thinking of that time? Meeting him here? Meeting him at all?

The kettle whistled, and Yuri jumped at the sound. Nikolai noticed that the boy seemed a bit more on edge than normal, and though he would never say it aloud to his grandson, he had a feeling this was the friend he had mentioned earlier. “Sounds like the tea is ready.”

Tea and some semi-stale cookies to tide the group over for the time being. Nikolai managed to learn all that he could from Otabek over the course of a few hours. Where he trained over the years, his hobbies, and more about modern Kazakhstan. Yuri managed to stay relatively quiet, speaking only when spoken to, instead turning his attention to the light ripples of steam traveling the rim of his tea cup. In Barcelona, he could talk easily, but now . . . 

“It’s getting late.” Otabek said quietly, returning his empty teacup to its saucer. “Perhaps I should get going.” It was getting dark outside, and the birds had stopped singing for the evening.

“Nonsense,” the old man laughed. “Where are you staying?”

“There is a hostel not far from here,” Otabek stood, gathering the empty dishes. “They had a few empty rooms.” 

“A hostel? No, no, no.” Nikolai stood, helping Otabek to the kitchen. “That doesn’t sound safe.” He looked toward his grandson, who continued to sit in his own shocked daze. “You can stay in Yurochka’s room.” 

Yuri choked on his tea, and it took him a while to sputter out the words, “My bedroom?”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to be any trouble. You have already shown me enough hospitality.” 

“I won’t hear of it. No guest of ours stays in a hostel! Come! Come! I’ll show you the way. Bring your suitcase!” 

Otabek stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching as the old man prattled away down a longer hallway, toward Yuri’s bedroom. Yuri stood slowly and made eye contact with Otabek for the first time that evening, and all he wanted to say was “I missed you,” but the words never made it to his lips.


End file.
